


Poacher

by coveredwagon



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-19 18:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15515583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredwagon/pseuds/coveredwagon
Summary: You see a mysterious man take care of a poacher, and you feel immensely intrigued.





	Poacher

The air was thick and tangible, almost too opaque to see 45 meters ahead. A little voice inside of your head told you to not ride out today, but it was a perfect morning; the temperature was a few degrees lower than usual, and the sun made a gorgeous orange glow seep through the dense fog. You figured it’d make for a great picture, especially over the mountain lake that sat north of your land.

You rode your dapple grey mare, Pepper, on the trail north to the scenic spot. You packed the only things you needed: a gifted camera draped around your neck, an insulated cup full of scalding hot coffee, and a .44 Smith and Wesson revolver tucked neatly in the hem of your pants. In case you see a cougar, your father had told you. You didn’t mind anyways; being this deep in the wilderness, you didn’t want yourself, much less your loyal mare, to fall victim to any wild animal.

You kicked her belly, coaxing her to quicken her pace up the steep mountainside as you lead her at a diagonal angle for her ease. “Atta, girl,” you encouraged.

When you got to the top of the ridge you could see the southern portion of the lake. You smiled and took in a great breath. This is what you loved best about living in rural Alberta, Canada. The views were absolutely breathtaking and unmatched by any other nation on earth. You felt blessed and actually quite anxious to take pictures, for, at this very moment, the fog was wisping off of the lake, and you wondered how long that beautiful and all natural phenomena would continue.

You dismounted Pepper but kept her reigns on your arm just in case. You unscrewed the glass protector and turned on the camera and made sure your footing was just perfect on the rocks, which were wet and slippery from the morning dew. You rose the camera to your eye and manipulated the zoom in feature and admired the colors on the screen, completely true to those you saw with your bare eyes.

You snapped a few pictures of the fog on the lake and observed the rest of the horizon for more shots. You looked from the shore, to the dock, to further off in the wood, where it was dark, the trees making yet another dense layer for the sun to go through. Eastward, you spotted a herd of elk. You smiled as you admired the beauty of the graceful creatures. You often took any opportunity to take pictures of them, and this time was no exception. So you zeroed in on a buck with great antlers. You counted and beamed, “He’s an eight-point!”

You pressed down on the button, taking pictures of the animal. And in the middle of holding the button down, taking shutter shots, you dropped the camera, and your eyes went wide. You let out a small gasp and brought your hands to your mouth.

What surprised you, what made you freeze, what absolutely terrified you, was the shot of a rifle and the falling of the eight-point buck. Pepper whinnied and rose her hooves, only a little anxious and surprised as the herd of elk escaped to the trees.

You were used to hunting, you had to if you lived in rural Alberta, but what took you aback and made your blood boil was that elk were completely out of season now. It closed a month ago.

You quickly picked the camera back up and zeroed in on the buck, praying that the poacher would come to get his kill soon. Instead of seeing an ugly man running wild from the wood to retrieve his kill, you heard shouting. You lowered the camera and quickly scanned the lake, trying to tune your ears to the source of the yelling, but it was incredibly difficult, given that the lake was surrounded by mountain peaks that made the noise bounce this way and that. 

Finally, at the edge of the wood, you spotted movement. You brought the camera to your eyes again and saw one man push another man down and out of the wood, closer to the shore. You saw the man on the ground dressed head to toe in leaf-ridden camouflage, and the dominating man wearing red flannel and jeans, both garbs usual for these parts.

However not typical, was the scene of the dominating man raising a wrapped hockey stick up, only to bring it down with all of his strength onto the poacher as if he were splitting wood with an axe. You winced, scared to see the collision, but refocused on the two when he was finished. The poacher was still, and the other man looked down at him and spat. 

You took a closer look at him as he went back to the wood to retrieve the hunter’s rifle. He had medium-length blond hair tied back into a ponytail, some scruff on his chin, and glasses that reflected a dark ominous purple. He was intriguing, to say the least.

You wanted to say something. You wanted to yell at him through the 35 meters of dense air how thankful you were, even though if the poacher’s fate were yours, you wouldn’t have been as violent with it as he was. 

But you never minded that as he came back with the rifle in tow and grabbed the man by his shirt collar, dragging him along the shoreline to the other side of the lake where the buck lay, bloodied. If he was going to report the poacher, he’d need some serious help bringing him in.

You decided to speak up, so you let the camera fall, allowing you could cup your hands around your mouth and call for the man. “Hey!”

You saw the fuzzy figure look up and start running to the buck.

“Hey! No, I want to help you!”

He didn’t stop or seem to take any notice of you and continued on to retrieve the buck.

You hummed, annoyed, and mounted your mare. You kicked her belly and leaned forward, only to lean back to balance out the weight as she traversed downhill slowly. You felt an anxious buzz within you to get going, but hurrying a horse down a strip of land this jagged and steep would only end in disaster. So eventually, you were on fairly even terrain, allowing you to kick up the speed and weave through the trees with expert horsemanship. Once through the thin patch of wood and onto the shoreline, you saw that the man and the elk were gone. You looked around and decided to head westbound, where the man had taken down the poacher, and headed through the wood. You came out to a country road, empty, save for a lonely red GMC truck speeding down into town. You quickly retrieved your camera and took a picture, making sure to zoom in on the license plate.

You were determined to find this man. You didn’t know whether it be because you were thankful for his actions, or just because of how much he intrigued you. For any reason, you turned back south to your land and vowed to go in search tomorrow morning at the break of day.


End file.
